


Make Me Feel

by moosetifying



Category: The Dresden Files - All Media Types, The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Developing Friendships, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-30 18:59:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13957941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosetifying/pseuds/moosetifying
Summary: A series of hostile grocery store encounters.





	Make Me Feel

**Author's Note:**

> Or, stressed rookie cop Murphy meets grumpy college student Harry in the frozen pizza aisle and they don’t hit it off. 
> 
> (Sometimes you just gotta write the Harry/Karrin AUs you want to see in the world.)
> 
> Title is from the Janelle Monáe song of the same title.

Karrin's been up for close to 20 hours now and there's nothing in her fridge. Not a single goddamn thing. 

She stares at the extremely empty interior and has to bite back the string of profanity swelling over her tongue. She's exhausted and the last thing she'd eaten was a stale donut vaguely in the area of lunchtime. 

Somewhere, some higher power is laughing a lung out at her expense.

The grocery store does exactly nil to improve her mood. It's crammed full of squabbling couples, whiny children, and obnoxious giggling teenagers. Karrin, feeling an eyelid starting to twitch, decides it's absolutely imperative to make this trip as quick as humanly possible. Fuck actual food and eating healthy; she's grabbing a frozen pizza and getting out of there.

Except there's a mountain blocking the frozen pizza section. 

Well, not a mountain. It just seems that way at first: a vertical stretch of white cotton mountain as far as Karrin's eyes can see. 

She looks up. Sees the words, INSERT OBNOXIOUS SLOGAN HERE emblazoned on the cotton. And above that is a neck and on the neck is a head, with hollow cheeks and scraggly stubble and a sharp nose. 

Karrin waits but the mountain man is just standing stock still, a frozen pizza in each giant hand, staring in the distance and frowning.

Karrin desperately tries to keep the last threads of her temper together. "Excuse me."

Mountain Man does not move.

"Hey!" Karrin says loudly. "Do you mind?"

Finally, he shifts, looking down at her. "Whoa. What?"

Karrin's eyelid is definitely twitching now. “You’re blocking the entire aisle,” she says slowly and condescendingly. “Could you move?”

The man stiffens, his dark brows drawing down. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, just as condescending. “Am I in your way? Didn’t see you all the way down there.”

Karrin sees red. 

“Har dee har har,” she snaps. “I’m short! How observant of you. How creative. Now move.”

The man steps aside, sweeping his arm in a courtly bow. “Milady.”

Karrin throws him a sweetly sneering smile and the finger, and goes to get her pizza. The man walks away without any further trouble, thankfully. 

What an asshole. At least Karrin will never have to see him again.

Three days later, her mother calls and tells her in no uncertain terms that she’ll be visiting Karrin for dinner that evening. Karrin, cursing, remembers that she has exactly nothing in her fridge yet again, and runs to the grocery store after work to pick up some food that will give her mother the impression that her daughter is a functioning adult. 

Mountain Man is standing in the produce section, staring contemplatively down at an acorn squash that looks tiny in his hand. He looks up as Karrin walks by; they exchange a single moment of loathing eye contact, and then Karrin passes him fully and it’s broken. 

.

Weeks pass without any further Mountain Man sightings, and Karrin is busy enough keeping up at work that she completely forgets about him. When she comes across him, this time in the frozen vegetables section, it all comes flooding back and she goes straight into ignoring-mode. Her head is killing; she really can’t spare the effort or energy to work up any anger. 

Unfortunately, Mountain Man didn’t get the apathy memo. She feels prickling on top of her head and looks up to see him staring down at her intensely—not angry or loathing, just laser focused on her face.

“What,” Karrin says reflexively, and then remembers that the entire left side of her face is black and blue after an extremely drunk idiot managed to get a good blow in two nights ago. Fucking drunk tank duty. 

“Are you okay?” Mountain Man actually looks…worried. “Do you need help?” He draws closer, voice lowering to a rough whisper. “Tell me who it was, I can help. You’re not alone.”

For a moment, Karrin can’t do anything but blink. Is he saying what she thinks he’s saying? She’s torn between annoyance at the typical male assumption that she can’t handle it herself and being touched at his instant offer of help. 

“I’m a cop,” she says, by way of explanation. “Got it during a shift. I’m fine.”

“A cop?” Mountain Man repeats. He looks her over—not in a checking-her-out way, but broadcasting disbelief so blatantly that Karrin bristles anyway. “What are you, five feet tops? Don’t they have a height requirement?”

“I’m plenty tall enough to break your fucking nose,” Karrin snarls. “Giant or not.”

“Hey!” Mountain Man says, and damn, he’s angry now. Karrin can literally see the rage coming over him, twisting his face and clenching his fists—but then he closes his eyes and takes some very obvious deep breaths and it fades, until he just looks embarrassed. “Sorry. I have a tendency to insult without thinking.”

Karrin jerks her chin in what might be interpreted as a nod. Then she sees the red patches on his face and the fact that he’s missing almost an entire eyebrow. “What happened to you?” 

The man shifts his feet. “Accident in class. I’m fine.”

“What kind of class gives you first degree burns?”

“Chemistry,” he says simply, and points at his T-shirt, which, sure enough, says: Um: The Element of Confusion. 

“Undergrad?” Karrin asks, and he nods. “A fireball may have been involved,” he confides. “I’m Harry.”

“Murphy,” she offers in return, and Harry gives her a smile that makes him look even younger than he must be. 

“Now I can stop calling you Blonde Midget,” he says.

“That’s great, Mountain Man,” Karrin says sweetly. 

.

Here’s the thing, though. Karrin hasn’t had a real friend since Angie in twelfth grade said, _you can’t marry Gregory, you’re seventeen!_ And Karrin said, _yes, I can._ And that was that.

She’s twenty-three and already long divorced, trying to start a career in an industry notoriously dominated by men, trying to go it alone after being raised to believe in traditional family values, trying, trying, trying. She just doesn’t have the time or energy for obnoxiously tall college students with a chip on their shoulder so obvious it can be seen from space. 

Try telling that to Harry though. Or to divine providence, really, because she’s apparently going to run into Harry every time she goes to get groceries. 

“How’s crime?” Harry says. 

Karrin has a basket full of three different flavours of ice-cream and a box of cheerios. She also has a headache and a bruised hip. She grants Harry a huff of breath and a roll of her eyes. He’s not daunted though, just keeps grinning that shit-eating grin that Karrin is already sick of after a grand total of four encounters. 

“Been keeping the citizens of Chicago safe, yeah?” Harry’s piling boxes of Wacky Mac in his cart like there’s an upcoming apocalypse Karrin doesn’t know about. “Foiling robberies, apprehending bad guys, rescuing cats out of trees?”

“Those are firemen, dumbass,” Karrin says before she can stop herself.

“She speaks!” Harry says, lifting his umpteenth Wacky Mac up in a triumphant gesture. 

Karrin closes her eyes and counts to ten. Opens them up and decides to just abandon the lasagna noodles. Hell, abandons the idea of lasagna all together. Who the fuck is she kidding. 

“Bye,” she says, and gets out of there. “Eat some vegetables!” she yells over her shoulder, and winces when Harry calls back, “I’m touched, Officer Murphy!” 

.

One in the fucking morning and she’s cursing Gregory for being an asshole, herself for deciding she wanted this, and the crowd of extremely drunk college kids she’s here to get rid of. 

“Okay, break it up!” she yells, and grabs the nearest collar and tugs. Generic White Kid 1 goes stumbling backwards, drunk enough that her tug has him all disoriented. The kid he’d been tussling with, Generic White Kid 2, stumbles forward too, not steady enough to compensate for suddenly having his fighting partner disappear on him. So that’s two taken care of. 

Over in the corner, Smithson is dealing with two grappling idiots so drunk their eyes can’t even focus. Karrin leaves him to it and sets her eyes on the next troublesome pair: one on the floor, his face blocked by the enraged man sitting on top of him and beating the shit out of him. 

“Hey!” Karrin shouts, heading over. “Stand up and back away.” 

The man ignores her. 

“I said, stand up and back away!” Karrin yells again. Only this time she gets right up in his space and there’s no way he can ignore her. He turns angry eyes on her and she can practically see his thought process: angry—annoying cop—annoying cop is a tiny pixie girl trying to tell me what to do—

She has enough time to set her feet firmly before he’s up and coming for her. Her brain shoves everything else aside and focuses just on him, a weird calm descending; he throws a punch which she easily dodges, then she grabs him in a hold and flips him over. That’s too much movement for his alcohol-soaked brain; she leaves him groaning on the floor and comes over to the man he’d been beating on, still lying on the floor.

He’s bloody but his eyes are open, and that’s all Karrin takes in before she realizes that beneath the gore is Harry from the supermarket. “You?” slips out before she can stop herself.

“Me,” Harry slurs up at her, and spits out some blood. Only it doesn’t exactly work with him lying prone like that, and it mostly just dribbles pathetically over his chin. “Hey there, Officer Murphy.”

.

Karrin helps Smithson deal with the rest of the drunken mob. All the while, Harry stays where she left him, sitting by the bar with an icepack she’d asked the bartender to fix up. 

Once it’s all done and dealt with, she waves goodbye to Smithson and heads over to the bar. “You good?”

Harry nods, then immediately winces. “Nothing I’ve never dealt with before.”

“Good,” she says. She debates for a minute, then gives in. “Come on. I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

Harry’s eyes, dark against his bloody face, skitter sideways. “Aren’t you working?”

“Just finished my shift.” Karrin watches him dispassionately. “Stop trying to deflect. Hospital. Now.”

“I’m fine,” Harry says hotly. His lip is bleeding, and he has a trickle of blood coming out of one nostril. There’s the beginning of a spectacular black eye and a bruise high up on his cheekbone. “I don’t need a hospital.”

“Too bad.” Karrin holds up her keys in front of his eye and jangles them obnoxiously. 

“I don’t want one,” Harry says. He glances up at her for a split second, then returns his gaze to her knees. “No insurance.”

Karrin can’t exactly argue with that one. But she doesn’t even predict what comes out of her mouth next; it’s like something else is manipulating her vocal chords. “Fine. But then you have to let me check you over.”

Harry’s face shows an instant flash of surprise, then suspicion. But finally he jerks his chin in assent. 

Which is how Karrin ends up driving a beaten-up giant back to her house. But hey. She’s done crazier things.

Harry is tense the whole way back, shoulders up by his ears—and considering the distance between his shoulders and ears, that’s pretty impressive. His face is practically a storm-cloud. Karrin can’t help feeling the instinctive fear any woman would get around someone much bigger than them who is so obviously upset. She doesn’t like that feeling.

But when she shows Harry into her house, he takes one look at the doilies and the prim pink sofa and immediately bursts into laughter. It reopens at least three cuts, but his laugh is big and deep and his face is full of an uncomplicated joy she’s never seen on it before, that completely transforms his face and makes him look about sixteen.

Karrin can’t help staring. 

It takes Harry a few minutes to stop cackling, and approximately fifteen seconds for Karrin to roll her eyes, dump her stuff, and go grab her first aid kit. The laughter seems to have gotten rid of his bad mood, thankfully, and it’s a still-grinning and compliant Harry who allows himself to be seated on the sofa and face tilted down.

He looks absurdly large perched on her sofa. Hell, he looks absurdly large against her entire house. Her grandma had been the same size as Karrin and the house isn’t exactly massive. No one has prepared it for a stork man taking up half the living room.

“Love what you’ve done to this place,” Harry murmurs, eyes dancing, as she grabs some disinfectant wipes.

“This house was my grandma’s,” she says. “Now hold still.”

He does, absolutely statue still as she starts dabbing at his face. He doesn’t even flinch when she cleans out his cuts, just lets out a slow, steady breath.

“I’m impressed,” Karrin tells him, carefully putting a band-aid over a cut on his chin. 

“Told you,” he says, eyes looking down. “I’ve dealt with this type of thing before.”

His shoulders are creeping upward again so Karrin elects to let that one go. “Well, there’s no permanent damage. Should be all fine.”

“Yippee.”

Karrin gathers up the many crumpled bloody wipes. “How’s your head? Any dizziness, nausea, headache?”

“Nope, nothing.” Harry runs a hand over his face. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Karrin says, and ducks into the kitchen to throw out the wipes before she says something weird, like “Anytime.” 

When she gets back into the living room, Harry is standing up and looking shifty. “It’s late. I should get going.”

Karrin is about to offer her guest bedroom before common sense prevails. She barely knows him, he’s just been in a fight—is she really going to let an unknown man stay in her house overnight? So instead she nods and leads him to the front door.

He lingers there for a beat, frowning down at his feet. “Thanks. Really.” 

“Just try to stay out of trouble,” Karrin replies, keeping her tone light. 

Harry glances up at her for a single electrifying second of eye contact, before he turns around and hurries off. 

Karrin watches him go, frowning, and then shuts the door.

Goddamn she needs a bath.

.

Karrin’s gone insane. That’s the only possible explanation for why she’s lurking outside the grocery store directly after work.

She doesn’t dare actually go in. She’d prefer as few people seeing her in her moment of shame as possible. All she wants is a quick glimpse, maybe a casual hello, an “Oh, I was just in the area, fancy meeting you here…” Just to make sure he’s actually okay. 

What kind of responsible adult is she, letting an injured college kid head out into the night without even getting a phone number? 

“Casual, casual, casual,” she mutters to herself. Should she lean nonchalantly against the wall? 

“Murphy?” 

Oh shit.

“Harry?” Karrin says, hoping the surprise in her voice is authentic enough. She turns around and looks up at him. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Harry’s bruises have darkened dramatically overnight, and he looks like ten miles of beaten up road. Karrin feels her face twist up in sympathy. 

“I’m fine,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“Just. In the area,” Karrin says. 

“Right, I can see those groceries you’re carrying around.” Harry’s dark eyes are dancing.

Karrin is getting the sense that she’s not in control of this conversation anymore. She doesn’t like it. “Ha ha.”

She makes to walk away but Harry blocks her path. “I’m getting a drink. Want to come?”

Karrin has to take a step back so she can comfortably see Harry’s face. “Are you asking me on a date? Because, no offense, but not interested.”

Harry busts out his most dramatic eye roll yet, complete with huff of air. “Not a date. A simple drink. As a thank you for last night.”

“Oh,” Karrin says. “Well. That’s fine.”

Harry pulls out some sort of idiotic courtly bow, motioning Karrin ahead of him. Karrin smacks the nearest bit of arm she can reach—hard—and starts walking, ignoring Harry’s petulant “Ow.”

“That’s police brutality, you know,” he says.

“Stop being a little shit and I’ll stop hitting you. And technically I’m off shift.” 

Karrin leads Harry to her car and he directs her to an area she’s never been in before. Nothing looks like a bar or pub, and there’s no one walking around. Karrin feels a flash of apprehension, pounded into her during her police training, and she automatically tenses. 

Harry has her park in front of a nondescript small shop. The windows are shuttered and there’s no signage. Karrin takes it in with extreme misgiving. “What is this?”

“Trust me,” Harry says. “You’re gonna love this.”

Karrin shoots him a dubious look but if he pulls anything she can disable him in about ten seconds flat, so she gets out and follows him into the shop. 

The entrance hall is empty too but down a flight of stairs is a wooden, smoky dream of a pub. It’s dimly lit, decorated exclusively in browns and earthy greens, with solid, practical tables scattered amidst what must be way too many pillars for the size of the room.

“That’s a lot of pillars,” Karrin says absently as Harry leads her over to the bar. 

“Two beers, Mac,” he says to the man behind the bar. Mac, a bald plain-looking white man, nods silently and hands two bottles to Harry.

Once they’re settled at one of the tables, Harry says, “There’s thirteen pillars. Thirteen tables, too. Thirteen fans. Thirteen bar stools.” He takes a sip of his beer as Karrin eyes the room, counting silently.

“So he’s superstitious?” she asks finally. “Why thirteen?”

“Some kind of Wiccan thing, I think,” Harry says. “Or maybe not. I don’t even know if he’s Wiccan, I kinda just assumed. Drink your beer.”

Karrin scowls at him but does, and…wow. She’s not a huge beer person, has forced herself to be one so there wasn’t yet another thing that made her stand out in the force, but this just plain tastes good. 

Harry’s grinning smugly at her, and to head off whatever obnoxious comment he’ll inevitably pull from his ass, Karrin asks, “So what’s this place called anyway?”

“McAnally’s Pub.” Harry fidgets with his bottle. It looks tiny in his hands. “Best beer in Chicago. Good food too. It’s mostly secret though. Not many people know about it, and Mac likes it that way.”

“How’d you find out about it?” 

“Eh. Knew someone who knew Mac.” Harry shifts uncomfortably. 

Karrin’s known Harry for a total of probably three hours but she already can tell when he’s avoiding talking about something. He has the poker face of a beached whale, honestly. But he really does look incredibly beat up and Karrin can’t bring herself to interrogate further.

“So you’re from Chicago?” she asks. When in doubt, resort to small talk. Never fails.

Unless you’re talking to Harry apparently. He looks even more uncomfortable than before. “Uh. Nope. Moved here for university.”

Karrin takes a long swallow of beer. “You enjoying Chicago?”

“Yeah, actually.” Harry’s eyes go soft. “It’s a great city.”

“It’s definitely never a boring place,” Karrin agrees, and decides to go for another question. She can’t help it. She’s curious. “So. Why chemistry?”

Harry looks at her. Really looks at her, with those sharp eyes boring into her. It feels like he’s seeing not just her face but her brain, her squishy insides, her thoughts. It’s deeply disconcerting. But after a few seconds, he flicks his eyes away and nods absently, like he’s come to a conclusion. 

“I used to set things on fire a lot when I was a kid,” he says, and grins. “I figured I’d try to make a career out of it.”

Karrin finds herself smiling back. 

“What about you, Officer Murphy? How did a tiny blonde end up on the force?”

“Watch it with the blonde comments, asshole,” Karrin says. “And it was an act of rebellion, I guess.”

“Oh?”

Karrin is ready to roll her eyes but Harry looks actually interested. So she continues. “My dad was a cop. My mom raised us all to be prim and proper and Catholic. One day, I decided I’d had enough. Being a cop seemed the most contrary thing I could do, really.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Being a cop?” Karrin picks at the label on her bottle. “Never. It fucking sucks some days, but I love it.”

“Officer Murphy,” Harry muses. “Upholding the law, beating up bad guys, protecting the citizens of Chicago.”

Karrin bites her lip to hold back a stupid grin. 

“So,” Harry says, “Mac here does an amazing steak sandwich. Can I get you dinner? Repayment for saving my life.”

Karrin eyes him suspiciously. “I told you, this isn’t a date. I don’t date.”

Harry sighs. “Look. I’m gonna be honest. You’re one of the only people I know in this entire city.”

“What about those guys at the bar? You seemed to know them pretty well.”

“Nope. I’m just excellent at pissing off strangers.”

Karrin snorts. “All right. Dinner. But I’m paying for myself.”

“And coffee next week?”

Karrin gives him a look.

“Not a date! I swear. Just Friends coffee.”

“Fine,” Karrin says.

“And you’ll teach me that fucking awesome throw you pulled on that asshole who was beating me up?” 

“Jesus, fine.”

Suddenly, Karrin’s social calendar is looking a lot fuller.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to click those kudos and comment buttons on your way out! 
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://moosetifying.tumblr.com/).
> 
> [Harry's shirt](https://www.zazzle.com/um_the_element_of_confusion_funny_chemistry_t_shirt-235659014589351128)  
> 


End file.
